


The Thirteen Modifications of Mycroft Holmes

by Oddree13



Series: The Thirteen Modifications of Mycroft Holmes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Crack, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Ink, Insecure Mycroft, Kissing, M/M, Mycroft-centric, Pierced Mycroft, Piercings, Silver Fox Lestrade, Tattooed Lestrade, Tattooed Mycroft, Tattoos, tattoolock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-01-19 22:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1486189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oddree13/pseuds/Oddree13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes is covered in tattoos and Greg Lestrade plans to see them all</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eight Shields

Mycroft had returned from Romania four weeks ago and after some stitches given to him by Anthea, along with mandated rest, the injuries from his negotiations had finally healed enough that he could go in for a touch up. His forearms had taken only minor abrasions from the restraints, but the man he was negotiating with had a penchant for fishhooks and a fondness for cutlery so his back looked like a cutting board when he touched down back in London. But Mycroft Holmes was not a man to dwell on the past.

He walked into his usual parlour, three-piece suit, umbrella in hand, asking for Mister St. Vincent. The ginger stepped into the back room and stripped himself down to a bare chest. He peeled off each layer, hanging them neatly, before walking out to the parlour floor. He stood in front of Mister St. Vincent, allowing him to take stock and map out his plan of attack. Four different size needles ought to do the trick, Vincent thought and laid his tools out on the table, instructing Mycroft to lay on his back first, arms outstretched, forearms facing up. Mycroft laid back, took a deep breath and relaxed as the needle punched in and out of his arms, only minor amounts of blood rising to the surface. After an hour, he turned around and sat reverse on the leather chair, his back exposed. Periodically other employees came by to inspect, mumbling comments about the state of Mycroft's back and the skill with which St. Vincent was mending it. Mycroft knew the back was going to take the longest and let himself slip into his head, only on occasion to be brought back by a faint whirring in the background.

After four hours, Mister St. Vincent cleaned and wrapped Mycroft's back and forearms, gave him his usual instructions, and allowed Mycroft to get dressed. The government official walked calmly to the back room and put his three-piece suit back on, piece by piece, checked the cuffs of his sleeves, and walked out the door.

Across the street Greg Lestrade was having a coffee - a rather large coffee. He had just gotten off interview some homicide witnesses, after being called in at 4am to said homicide scene. He had desperately needed a mid-afternoon caffeine boost if he was going to get through the mountain of paperwork this case has already brought. Looking into the reflection of the window he fiddled with his tie. No matter what he did, the damn thing never stayed ironed.

He let his gaze wander outside for a brief second when he spotted a gentleman in a three-piece suit carrying a brolly, walk out of the tattoo parlour across the street. He blinked in disbelief. There was no way Mycroft Holmes was walking out of a tattoo parlour. He took another swig of his coffee and ran out the door.

"Mister Holmes!" Greg called out running across the street. Mycroft certainly heard him, but he was exhausted and kept walking towards his car that had pulled up ahead. "Mycroft Holmes," Greg called out again, "you do not get to ignore me!"

Mycroft rolled his eyes before schooling his face and turned to face Greg. "Detective Inspector Lestrade, what a pleasant surprise," he fakely smiled. Greg smirked, "Do you come around this part of town a lot Mister Holmes?" he asked, eyeing the parlour Mycroft had just come out of.

Mycroft followed his line of sight and saw that they had landed on the tattoo parlour, his artist work out of. "Ah, no I do not find myself in this part of town with frequency, however, I do have an informant or two around these parts, and one wanted to meet at his place of business," Mycroft explained, trying not to gesticulate too much as his arms were growing more sore. “Some of my informants are not amenable to being absconded in black cars," he added with a slight smirk.

Greg raised an eyebrow. "So you're implying that there are people who /are/ amendable of being kidnapped?" He chuckled. "I didn't know you did your own grunt work. I thought you had a team of people who did that for you." Mycroft frowned, "I occasionally do my own work yes," he explained with disdain. His arms and back were smarting from the needle work and the wrap was getting itchy beneath his jacket, he needed to end this conversation soon. Mycroft slipped out his phone and pressed the button for his car, "Well Detective Inspector, my ride should be arriving any moment. I would hate to keep you from your duties any longer"

Greg noticed that Mycroft was becoming a little agitated with him, which was certainly not in Mycroft's usual character. The man strived to be pleasant and cordial even when he was insulting you. He looked behind Mycroft at the shop, "So you had an informant in Eight Shields Tattoo Parlour?  That must be an interesting case." Mycroft sighed, exhausted and in need of a painkiller and mumbled "Very...

The car pulled up and Mycroft opened the door. He was about to slide in and drive off when he turned to Greg asking, "Would you like a ride back to the Yard?" The Detective perked up at that. "I would love one if you wouldn't mind." He said after another sip of his coffee. "Are you sure it's not an inconvenience? I know how busy you are."

"Not at all," Mycroft lied. He was simply offering because he was polite and often stole the officer from various locations throughout London. Mycroft sat himself carefully, making sure to gently place his back on the seat so as to not move the wrappings. Greg happily slid into the car beside Mycroft, always content to be in the other's company for some reason, clumsily bumped into the younger man's arm as he closed the door behind him, making the ginger wince at the contact. In an attempt to prevent further injury Mycroft slid further away from the DI.

"Are you alright?" Greg asked, putting his cup in the holder, before reaching over to Mycroft. "Is something wrong? Should I just let you get on your way?"

"I am fine, Detective Inspector. Simply recovering from a wayward negotiation."

"A wayward negotiation?" Greg asked, his hand still on Mycroft's shoulder. "I thought you stopped getting hands on."

"Well some dignitaries are a little more archaic than others."

Greg shuddered and removed his hand. "I thought only mob boss still shook people up." Mycroft gave a slight frown and shook his head.

The pair sat in the car in silence until the driver had to maneuver out of the way of a car merging into their lane, sending Mycroft and Greg into the side door. As Mycroft righted himself he felt the bandage on his back move out of place, and hoped that the bleeding had at least ceased - he was not in the mood for ruining another suit.

Greg groaned as the weight of Mycroft that was pinning him to the door lifted. He straightened himself in the seat, and looked at Mycroft asking, "Are you ok? If my bumping into you hurt, I can't imagine what that must have felt like."

"I'm fine," Mycroft growled and decided to remove his jacket for good measure. It was one thing to ruin a shirt, another thing to ruin a jacket a perfectly tailored coat. As he slipped off the jacket, he was happy to see no blood on the back, however, as he looked at his arms, he noticed that his right forearm was beginning to bleed through his shirt. "Bugger"

"Christ! You're bleeding!" Greg yelled as he saw the blood seeping through Mycroft's white shirt. "We need to get you to a doctor." Mycroft rolled his eyes, "It's nothing please," he mumbled, "it's simply a shifting of cling wrap, most of it is just surface blood anyways," he shrugged.

Greg thought about what Mycroft had just said. Doctor's didn't wrap wounds with cling wrap. Also surface blood wasn't common from minor wounds either. With a light smile on his mouth he looked at the politician and stated, "You have a tattoo. Mycroft Holmes, minor position in the British Government has a tattoo. Wow, I Never pegged you to be someone to have one."

Mycroft began to bristle at the teasing and grumbled, "And why not? It's art like anything else Gregory and it is not reserved for miscreants and vagabonds," he spoke incredulously.

"I never said that it was." Greg chuckled. "I have a few myself to be honest."

"I am certain I have more," Mycroft smirked to himself.

"Do you? Would you be willing to show me? Maybe after dinner sometime?" Mycroft turned to look at the older man, "Why would you want dinner?"

"Because that's what some people do together," Greg explained flatly.

"I am aware of the protocols of dinner Gregory, but we have nothing to discuss. Sherlock is being low key for now." Mycroft stated still confused.

"We can discuss ourselves, our tattoos. I think that's a few good topics to go on. We also have a strong sense of civic duty, another topic."

"Yes, I see. That, however, does not answer the why." Mycroft repeated.

"Why? Because you're attractive."

"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft spat.

"You're attractive and interesting. Therefore,  I'm asking if you'd like to join me for dinner one night." Greg said confidently.

"I think you hit your head on the window..." Mycroft mumbled.  

"Why because I'm asking you out? I didn't hit my head, Mycroft." Greg laughed.

"That is precisely why," he insisted, "I believe you are concussed. Otherwise you would not have said that ludicrous statement."

"I've been thinking about it for a while now actually" Greg admitted.

Mycroft stared blankly at the DI, "Gregory, I am simply at a loss...for once." Looking at the confusion on Mycroft's face, it dawned on Greg that his affections might not be returned. In fact, he didn't even know if the other man even liked other men. "Oh, well..." he began as he ran a hand through his silver hair, "...we can forget that this ever happened."

Mycroft saw how embarrassed and disappointed Greg was a softly smiled, "No I think I would like to remember this. No one has ever asked me to dinner before. Well no one who did not want a favour in return that is."

"Right," he said, nodding. "Right, yes." It was clear to him, in his muddled state, that he had been rejected, but that wasn't really such a shock to him. "Are you free tonight?" Mycroft asked hopeful. He quickly looked back up at the younger man, still thinking he had been rejected, and squeaked, "Tonight?"

"Yes. I would have to go back and change as this shirt is ruined, but I am free for the rest of the day," he explained. Greg quickly went through his mental calendar, which was always free. "I'm free too," he smiled, finally processing what Mycroft was asking.

"So do you have any kind of restaurant you'd rather go to?" Greg asked,"because I don't think you'd fancy going to a pub."

"I have a few places in mind. But I am a bit keen on Indian tonight if you do not mind."

"Indian it is. I'm sure Anthea will send me the addresses of a few of your favorite places."

Mycroft chanced a genuine smile, “Nonsense, I can just pick one out myself. I am capable”

Greg blushed at the younger man’s smile and said, “I hope I'm not being too forward, but you look great when you smile. You should do it more often." Mycroft reddened and coughed, “Uh, thank you.”

After some more silence Greg inquired, “What are your tattoos of or are you going to wait until tonight to tell me?"

"I have several as I have stated but I'll show you one tonight,"

"One? "Why only one?"

“Some of them are more private than others for one, but no one has really seen them save Anthea and a few doctors. I'll show you one and if all goes well tonight, on dinner two I'll show you another." Greg perked up at the last bit. "Dinner two? I'm liking how that sounds," he chuckled.

The car pulled round to the Yard. "Well Detective this is your stop. I'll come round at seven for dinner and a tattoo. Who knows you may make it through all of them eventually..." he teased. "I certainly hope so." Greg said as he flashed the younger man a smile. "I really, really hope so."

As Greg stepped out of the car, Mycroft called out after him, "For the record Gregory, I think you are attractive as well," and with that Mycroft closed the door and drove off. Greg smiled at the car as it drove away and only once the car was out of sight did he remember that he had left his coffee in the limo.

**Anthea will come round with a fresh cup shortly. Thank you for the coffee. MH**

You don't have to GL

**Too late MH**

You're sweet GL

**Not a word used to describe me ever MH**

Until now GL

**I'll see you tonight Gregory MH**

I can't begin to tell you how much I'm looking forward to this. GL

**Please don't build this up. I'm not good at these kinds of interactions MH**

Trust me, I'm not building this up. And I know how you are around people. Besides I want to see all of the ink you have. How many dates will that take exactly? GL

**Thirteen MH**

What?! GL

**I have thirteen tattoos. Well eleven and two piercings to be precise MH**

 


	2. Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft enjoy a meal before the first tattoo is revealed.

 

Greg couldn’t get off work early to go home and freshen up so he settled for looking at himself in the Yard’s bathroom mirror and fix himself there. He always kept a change of clothes and a toiletry case at his desk, for situations like this, and went about washing his face and brushing his teeth, and deciding to keep his stubble for the date.

As he ran his fingers over his jaw, he settled on the tiny scar below his lips where his lip ring used to be, and smirked. That one hadn’t faded quite as nicely as his eyebrow ring, and everyone at the Yard knew he used to have an earring when he started as a PC. The worst to close up thought was his tongue stud and sometimes Greg wished he still had it as it always made for interesting results in the bedroom - but alas, he picked career over punk, and his teenage self shook his head in shame.

\---

Mycroft wandered into the building and knocked lightly on the DI’s office door. “Are we still on for dinner?” he asked surveying the piles of paperwork surrounding the detective.

Greg nodded, “Yeah I’m done for the night and delicious curry is calling my name.”

Holding the door open to Greg’s office Mycroft let the older man exit first as he followed behind. Once outside, the pair slid once again into Mycroft’s sleek, black car and headed off.

“How are your arms?” he queried, looking at the ginger’s clothed forearm.

“Fine. They only had to have minor touch ups so I did not need to keep the cling on them as long as I would if it were a new tattoo.”

Greg nodded and looked at Mycroft’s forearms, willing himself to acquire x-ray vision and see what was underneath the fine cloth that covered this man. Mycroft smirked.

“Gregory staring at my arm long enough will not reveal its contents,” he teased.

“It was worth a shot,” he smiled and relaxed back into the seat, putting his arm down on the cushion and moving his hand so it brushed up against the side of Mycroft’s.

***

Mycroft walked inside the restaurant and in fluent Hindi began to speak to the host, exchanging pleasantries with the man as Greg walked inside. The man grinned at the DI before leading them to a table towards the back.

The two men sat across from each other in silence - Mycroft appraising the menu and Greg stealing glances at Mycroft.

“You keep looking at me,” Mycroft spoke into his menu.

“It’s hard not to stare at you,” he grinned and ran his foot along Mycroft’s ankle.

Mycroft startled and jumped, banging his knee on the underside of the table. “Bugger,” he mumbled rubbing the aching spot.

“Sorry!” Greg apologised, eyes going wide.

"No, it is alright, just surprised me is all," he mumbled and looked up to see Greg mussing his silver hair in anxiety.

Mycroft licked his lips at the sight and explained quietly, "No one has ever played, how you say it, 'footsie' with me before. I was simply startled is all.”

Greg chuckled, and with a tilt of his head in warning, set his foot once again against Mycroft’s and stroked the skin. "It's an honour to take your footsie virginity, then" he teased.

Mycroft flushed and coughed when the waiter came up to the table grinning, first course in hand. The food was set down and Greg looked at the spread.

“When I said curry I meant a dish, not a meal you’d see at the Taj,” Greg gaped.

“Well I wanted us to have a nice meal and the owner has never seen me come with someone that is not from work...and decided to spoil me…” he explained.

“Well that saves the effort of looking at the menu. Now I can just focus on you.” Greg put down the menu and looked at Mycroft from across the table, and continued to stroke his foot.

“If you keep doing that I will not be able to concentrate on this food.”

“You need to relax.”

"Hard to when there is a handsome man rubbing my leg and making eyes at me.”

"Handsome?" Greg chuckled. "Of the pair of us, I'm definitely not the handsome one"

"I guess you are right. I do believe the term is 'silver fox'?" Mycroft countered.

"Silver fox" Greg laughed, running a hand through his hair again. "I wouldn't put it that way My."

"How would you put it then?"

"I don't know" Greg shrugged. "Aging ungracefully.”

"I am quite taken with your hair actually,” he admitted, wishing that perhaps he could run and hand through it by the end of the night.

"You're crazy" he scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Am not. Mummy had me tested," he said sipping water.

Greg laughed, reaching out and placing his hand over Mycroft's. "Well, I don't know about a fox, but I will admit to the silver.”

The first course was eaten rather quickly and with the arrival of dinner Mycroft decided to reintroduce the tattoo topic once more, turning the tables on Greg.

“Might I get any hints as to what you have hidden under your clothing Detective Inspector?”

“More silver,” Greg replied cheekily, causing Mycroft to choke on his water.

“I meant the tattoos Gregory!”

“I know but I do like seeing you flustered. Any chance I’ll get a hint at yours though?”

“You may know that a few serve as reminders, one was mandated by work, and the rest are simply designs I liked.”

“I can see that, though I am curious about the work on. I’ve been wanting a new one just been indecisive.”

“Well I know a few excellent artists when you decide.”

“Thanks. Will you hold my hand too while it’s being done?” he teased.

“I may but you do not seem like the type of person with a low pain tolerance.”

“I don’t actually, but I do want an excuse to hold your hand,” he grinned.

“You are holding it now,” he countered.

“That I am."

***

As dinner wound down to a close Greg licked the last remnants of his dessert off his fork and asked, “Drinks after this? One of our places or the pub perhaps?”

“I believe my flat can accommodate us, and it makes better sense if I am to show you what is underneath my clothes tonight,” he smirked.

“Well I was hoping you would say that, but seeing as I’m probably not getting more than a snog tonight, it isn’t entirely a necessity,” he laughed.

The two walked outside and before they could pause at the kerb the typical sleek black car pulled alongside them. Staring at it Greg wondered, “How do you do that?”

“Sonic screwdriver,” he teased, before opening he car door. “Bigger on the inside?” Greg asked before sliding in, causing Mycroft to chuckle.

Inside the car Greg moved close to Mycroft, placing his arm around his shoulders. “I had a great time tonight My,” he said into his ear, causing the ginger to blush. “As did I. Thank you for the wonderful suggestion Gregory.”

***

Sitting on the couch in Mycroft’s living room Greg looked around the richly furnished room, piled with books and trinkets from travels. He moved to grab a book off the coffee table and was idly flipping through it when Mycroft walked back in with two pints of dark beer.

“I hope this is to your liking,” he said, handing Greg the beer. Taking a sip, Greg hummed around the rim, letting the foam stay on his lip. “Oh, this is good.”

Sitting beside him, Mycroft sipped at the bitter and smiled. “Shall I show you what you endured dinner for?” Rolling his eyes, Greg moved closer and cupped his cheek with a hand. “I didn’t endure anything you berk. I just wanted a nice meal with you and the ink was an added bonus.”

Relaxing into the touch, Mycroft let Greg’s thumb stroke his face for a moment before pulling back. He placed his pint on the table and began rolling up his left sleeve.

With each inch of fabric folded, beautiful script was revealed to decorate the ginger’s creamy skin. Once the cuff settled above his elbow, he extended his forearm to reveal the word “Queen” written in calligraphy. “There you have it, tattoo number one.”

It took all the self-control Greg had to not reach out as he was rolling his sleeve and touch the art on his skin. But as Mycroft extended his arm to him, the control was gone, and Greg was skimming the scrawl with his fingers, seeing where the ink was new, and where it was faded from the first round. Bringing the forearm up to his mouth, he began to kiss the exposed flesh gently, eventually moving to Mycroft’s neck and jaw.

“Never would I have imagined something else that could have made you more beautiful than you already are,” he whispered, before capturing Mycroft’s lips.

Not having expected the kiss, Mycroft froze against Greg before relaxing into him, tasting the stout on his lips. He brought up his hand to grasp at Greg’s silver strands and soon found himself with a lap full of DI, as Greg moved to straddle him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long to put up. Combination of writer's block, other stories, and life.
> 
> This is an unbetaed work and if you want to help me with this story, hit me up on tumblr (oddree13.tumblr.com)


	3. Country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A second date, a second tattoo.

Between the mugging gone wrong and the new evidence that came up on a cold case, Greg Lestrade hadn’t been able to see Mycroft let alone leave his office for more than a shower and a quick kip on his couch. Finally, after a week and a half of chasing leads and re-interviewing witnesses, Greg sat at his desk filing all the necessary paperwork, in the hopes of getting it done before the weekend.

A knock at his door pulled him from his current form and he began to tell Sally, “I got you email about seeing the family tomorrow an-” but was cut off when he looked up and saw Mycroft standing in his doorway. “My, what are you doing here?” he asked, closing the folder on the top of the pile.

“I was simply in the neighbourhood, and knew you had been rather busy, but wanted to see if perhaps you were able to pull away for a bit to eat dinner?” he asked casually.

Greg shook his head, “I’m really sorry, I can’t afford to leave here until this is done to be honest.” Mycroft nodded, “I understand completely, which is why I have brought you take away to eat here. If you are not too busy, I would like to stay and join you for the duration of your meal,” he explained, holding up the bags of food.

Grinning Greg got up from his desk and walked over to Mycroft. “You are wonderful,” he laughed and placed a small peck on his lips. Before, taking one of the bags from Mycroft.

The ginger followed him to his desk and helped him clear the clutter from an area large enough for them to eat. Opening the bag Greg looked at the restaurant label. “This is my favourite sushi place on this side of town, good choice,” he smiled, and plucked an edamame pod from the container.

“Oh, is it?” Mycroft asked, setting out the rolls and handing Greg his chop sticks.

“How did you find out?” Greg asked, looking at Mycroft with knowing eyes. The younger man sighed at being caught. “I simply looked to where you placed to most orders to in the last few months,” he mumbled, taking a seat across from his date.

“Well thank you, because this is delicious,” he beamed, not minding the invasion of privacy.

Before opening his first portion, Mycroft shucked off his suit jacket and hung it on the back of his chair before rolling up his left sleeve. “Best not to get it dirty,” he explained, as he moved to the right sleeve and began to fold the fabric upward.

Greg was digging into his tekka roll when he noticed Mycroft rolling up his sleeves and paused to watch the second tattoo come into view as he pulled up his right sleeve. “You know I was wondering what the counterpart to the Queen tattoo was,” he mused and pointed at the word “Country” in equally ornate script on Mycroft’s right forearm.

“I did say that I would show you a tattoo a date,” reminding Greg, and watched as the DI smiled realising this was their official second date. “So are you convinced sufficiently that I didn’t hit my head in the car so hard I asked you out, but that I actually wanted to see you?”

Nodding Mycroft blushed. “Please forgive me for thinking you were concussed. It is not something that has really ever happened to me. However, between this meal and your enthusiasm on the couch during our last date, I am inclined to agree with your original supposition – you do want to see me, in a personal manner.”

“An intimate one too,” Greg added with a wink. “So are you going to tell me the story with those two tattoos?” Greg asked, pointing a chopstick at each.

“There is not much of a story. I knew early on what it was I wanted to do in my career – everything would be for the good of Queen and Country. They serve as my personal reminders for the days that situations look bleak or the decisions are difficult. My life, the choices I make are for the crown and for the good of the Commonwealth. Thus, I was most enraged when the man I was negotiating with thought it best to tear at my testaments with a carving knife,” he sighed, rolling his eyes. “It was as if he thought that tearing my country from my skin would bring about its downfall.”

Greg looked on in awe as Mycroft explained his forearm tattoos and as he concluded, the silver-haired DI got up and closed the curtains in his office.

“Gregory, what are you doing?” Mycroft asked, turning in his seat to look at the blinds falling down.

“I wanted privacy for this,” he said getting on his knees in front of the government official.

Stunned Mycroft choked. “While I appreciate the offer, I will have to decline as I do not think this an appropriate time in our relationship, or location, to do this,” he rambled.

Chuckling Greg shook his head. “Calm down, your virtue is safe,” he explained, and lifted Mycroft’s right forearm towards him and began to trace and kiss the design. Once he reached the elbow, we switched to the left arm and finishing he looked up at the man who was staring at him rather befuddled.

“Why did you do that?”

“Because what you just said was beautiful, noble, and goddamn sexy. I just wanted to kiss those pieces of you as my way of expressing that.”

Running his hand over the hair at Greg’s temples, Mycroft bent down to kiss his forehead. “Thank you Gregory,” he whispered.

“No need. Now shall we finish this delicious fish before I have to spend my evening filing more paperwork?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what you read? Love Mystrade? Hit me up on tumblr (oddree13.tumblr.com) for my ask box and the RPs I constantly post.


	4. MEH 1974

After the night in his office, Greg and Mycroft began going on dates that didn’t require tattoos being revealed. This decision was made by Greg more so than Mycroft as at the end of dinner number four Mycroft asked if they should go to Greg’s in order to reveal another piece of ink when Greg just smiled and said, “Nah, I’ve an early day tomorrow and I really would like it if you stopped thinking of these dates as ticks on a list of mine. I like you My, and I’ll see all your ink in due time. I’m actually not in the mood to race to the end. Thirteen dates is honestly not enough for me at the point,” he admitted, and proceeded to snog the hell out of Mycroft in the back of his black sedan.

This discussion is how Mycroft found himself opening the door to his flat, dressed in sweat pants and a loose t-shirt, to let in Greg who was carrying a container of soup and medicine.

“I popped by and got the meds the doctor gave you, and asked Anthea where you liked your soup from,” Greg explained, shrugging off his coat and hanging it in the hall before following Mycroft to the couch he had been confined to for the better part of the day.

“I cannot believe you let yourself get to the point where you have a walking pneumonia,” he sighed, tucking the blanket back around his date. “Do you not know how to take care of yourself?” he chastised and sat on the couch, prepping the soups on the coffee table.

“You are not my mother,” Mycroft whined, petulantly. He hated acknowledging that he was human and that his body could betray him. “I was perfectly fine. Anthea really did not need to send me home.”

Greg gave him a look that said /you’re joking right?/ and place a mug of soup in his hands. “You’re right, I’m not your mum, I’m your boyfriend, so drink your soup and rest.”

Mycroft had been placing the mug at his lips when Greg had declared their relationship status causing Mycroft to freeze. “Did you just call me your boyfriend?”

“Yes, it is what I am. What we are. We go on dates, we like each other, now is not the time for you to have a crisis about us when you just broke a fever,” he pointed out, knowing how his partner got insecure when he thought about them as a couple. Despite the few months they’d been together had taught Greg just how vulnerable the government official really was.

“I have a Bit of Fry and Laurie in the DVD player. Mind turning it on?” Mycroft asked, accepting the decision of them as a couple come to by Greg. He had questions and wanted to clarify or talk Greg out of such a label, but he saw that the officer was having none of it.

Taking Mycroft’s legs, he placed them across his lap as the other sipped slowly at his mug of soup. The first episode played in the background and Greg found himself playing with Mycroft’s feet before massaging them, causing the ginger to melt further into the cushions.

Greg’s fingers kneaded and rubbed the toughened skin, but soon noticed a difference in texture on one of the heels. Looking to the side, Greg saw a series of vertical lines and what appeared to be numbers and letters. “My, what’s on the bottom of your foot?”

Taking a bit to register what was being asked of him, Mycroft blinked a few times before saying, “Ah that would be my work ID. In case something ever happened, they could identify my body. Initials and birth year. Able to be scanned,” he explained calmly.

Greg looked interested and then slightly horrified. It dawned on him that Mycroft’s line of work could potentially put him in a position in which his body would have to be identified without his face or other identifying marks.

The thought of anything happening to the man before him frightened him and Mycroft saw the worry on his face. “Gregory, I have not been in the field for a long time. Please, do not look so struck, for it is a rather slim chance nowadays.”

Greg simply nodded, and looked Mycroft in the eye. “I guess I just realised that there could be a point in the future where you weren’t with me because someone took you from me, and well, it was a future I’d rather not ever be in.”

Mycroft smiled softly and moved to cup Greg’s face in his hand. “I will do my best to never allow that world to occur, but for now, we have each other and I think I would like to go to bed with my boyfriend as I have grown rather sleepy.” Nodding, Greg got up from the couch, and helped Mycroft to his bed where they both passed out, feet linked under the sheets.   


	5. SH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I worry about him. Constantly.

Coughing broke the silence of the room. Mycroft was wheezing and losing his breath enough to wake Greg up in the dead of night. Gently shaking his boyfriend, Greg moved Mycroft so he was propped up on his pillow. “Let me get you water,” he slurred, still half asleep, and wandered to the kitchen.

When he returned Mycroft was still wheezing but the fit had lessened and he happily took the offered water. Watching him sip it, Greg rubbed his eyes and said, “Imma go to the bathroom and get that chest rub thing.” Padding slowly to the en suite, he soon plopped back on the bed with the small tub in hand.

Greg moved closer to Mycroft and unbuttoned the top few buttons of the ginger’s silk pyjamas. “It’s reasons like this - bloody silk shirt - that I think you are a bond agent or something,” he chuckled, growing more awake.

Mycroft went to retort but instead let out a slew of coughs, causing his throat to grow more raw.

“Calm down, let me rub this on you then I’ll get some tea,” Greg reprimanded, and began to rub the ointment over his chest. He started in the center, feeling the tuft of ginger hair beneath his fingers, and moved to coat each of his pectorals.

Over his boyfriend’s left chest muscle he felt a variation in the skin. A scar perhaps? Curious he tug the pull on the lamp to see better and saw what appeared to be two letters - initials - in a child’s handwriting. “My, what’s on your chest?” Greg asked, knowing very well what he was seeing.

Looking down Mycroft grinned fondly. “He always signed everything even from a young age. ‘SH’ adorned everything he touched and owned. I thought its location fitting,” he smiled weakly, coughing a bit as he explained.

Smoothing his thumb over the initials brought back every time Mycroft said - “I worry about him. Constantly.”

“Oh My,” he whispered, still touching the raised ink. “You are something else, you know? Let me guess, he doesn't even know this exists.”

“Caring is not an advantage,” he muttered, his eyes weary wanting sleep. “You see what I do for the little boy with my heart,” he shrugged, not terribly minding that Greg saw this weakness of his.

Overwhelmed by something resembling love, Greg leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to the ginger’s lips. “The lad is lucky that someone like you loves him,” he whispered, and move to rest by his boyfriend’s side, after turning off the lamp. “Let’s go back to sleep now. I got the day off tomorrow to make sure you actually do something that resembles recovering,” he yawned, and with an arm around Mycroft’s waist drifted back off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like what you read? Love Mystrade? Hit me up on tumblr (oddree13.tumblr.com) for my ask box and the RPs I constantly post. Also, this work is unbetaed so let me know if you see any mistakes!


	6. London Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally get a peek at the DI's ink.

Greg woke up before Mycroft and used that time to shower change into a new t-shirt, and go down stairs to make breakfast. Coming back up to Mycroft’s room with a plate of toast with jams and butter, Greg place the tray carefully on the dresser before going to the bed to kiss Mycroft awake. 

Peppering kisses all over the ginger’s forehead, Greg was able to hear that his breathing was a bit better but less wheezy. “My, time to get up. I’ve got us a plate of toast and some tea for your throat,” he soothed, coaxing the younger man awake. Blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes to the light Mycroft groaned at being awoken, but soon forgot his ire when he laid his eyes on Greg. 

“Good Morning Gregory, thank you for last night,” he coughed out, adjusting himself in bed. Greg moved to position a few pillows behind him and once his lover was settled, turned to get the tray. As his back turned Mycroft noticed that the shirt Greg was wearing was rather ratty, and nearly transparent around the centre of his back. This is how the patient caught a glimpse of his doctor’s ink.

“Gregory, I had no idea the depth of your devotion to Joe Strummer,” Mycroft teased, and smirked at a rather red-faced Greg Lestrade. Across the good DI’s back was the logo of his favourite band - The Clash. Placing the tray carefully on the bed, Greg moved aside the collar of his shirt and showed a revolver on his left pectoral, with the barrel facing his shoulder.

“Not just Joe, but Paul too. This is the same tattoo he has. I was a punk growing up and still am in certain ways,” he grinned, not embarrassed by his tattoos, but more the way in which Mycroft had come upon them. “I used to play bass in a band in secondary and had a lot of fun doing it,” he continued, as he settled himself on the bed. 

“What caused you to stop?” Mycroft inquired earnestly, wondering what had caused his boyfriend to cease something he obviously thought back fondly of. 

“We grew up,” Greg answered simply. “We did a bit of touring in what was our gap year but then I went off to study at university. James, the drummer, started backpacking after that gap year and wound up marrying a lovely girl in Chile. Amelia our guitarist went back to France to study art, and Nick, vocals, is a barrister now if you can believe that another punk kid went to the law. Granted he does civil rights cases. We all still get together every few years, catch up, and play, but we all left that life a long time ago.” The grin plastered across his face though, told Mycroft, that he remembered the time well. 

"You should play for me sometime," Mycroft asked, nibbling on the toast. 

Shaking his head Greg laughed. "My, I play punk music. Nothing I know would be suitable for a man who listens to more classical music than should be reasonable for a man under forty."

"Just because I listen to classical when you are around does not mean that I do not know of bands such as the Clash, the Replacements, and more. I too was once a teenager Gregory, and I simply listen to classical because it soothes me and aids in my thinking," he retorted. "I would like to hear you play one day."

Sitting down on the bed once more Greg laughed. "I'm sorry I doubted you My. I'll be sure to give you a concert one day. You can come over to mine and I'll get the four-string out of the case."


	7. Johnny Cupcake

Soaked. Mycroft Holmes was soaked. Getting out of the car to enter Greg's flat, he was not able to protect himself from the errant car who ran over a puddle and soaked him. He walked to the door of Greg's flat and was rushed in by the DI who was afraid of his boyfriend getting another cold or worse.

"Come on strip, and I'll hang your clothes by the window," he huffed, leading Mycroft to the bathroom where the man could change in private. Leaving a pair of sweatpants by the door, Greg waited in the living room for him to come out. Mycroft walked out into the room with sweatpants, a black undershirt, causing Greg to notice the bare arms before him. Though they were covered in freckles, which Greg adored, he noticed that his partner's left bicep was adorned with an interesting, yet simple tattoo.

"My, do you have a cupcake and crossbones on your arm?" he asked in disbelief.

Chuckling Mycroft nodded. "Yes, it was one of my siller choices. Sherlock has always, and still loves to, poke fun of my affinity for cake, and all sweets. I saw this logo and thought it appropriate. I wanted it to be small - a silent and invisible joke to myself about his comments. A joke that I am deadly serious about my desserts."

Greg chortled and sat down beside Mycroft. "I am so glad that I am one of the few people who get to see this side of you. The side with the sense of humour and cheekiness that no one else is privilege to. That to me is more valuable than the fact that I get to kiss you or take you out. I prefer that I see the Mycroft that comes alive behind closed doors."

Mycroft blinked at the proclamation that had started as a small teasing. "Gregory," he whispered, and captured his boyfriend's lips. He began slow, and built up gradually, insinuating his tongue into Greg's mouth, tasting his boyfriend. Greg leaned into the kiss and soon found himself straddling Mycroft.

Pulling back for a moment Greg looked down at his boyfriend. “I know we’ve been moving slow, and I’m actually loving every small milestone we hit, but I was wondering if you minded doing a bit more tonight?”

Swallowing nervously, Mycroft found himself at a loss for words. Taking a few moments to gather himself he eventually asked, “What would that entail?”

In lieu of a verbal response Greg simply ground his hips down causing the ginger to moan.

“I see.”

“I want you so bad My,” Greg breathed and captured Mycroft’s lips as soon as the politician reciprocated with a roll of his hips, letting out a tiny whimper.

Mycroft hummed in delight when Gregory whimpered, and when the older man slipped his tongue back into the politician's mouth, the latter let out a soft moan, grasping the DI’s hips somewhat hesitantly and sliding his other hand up to the dark hair.

Greg moved down to nip and suck lightly at Mycroft's neck and reveled in the feeling of the younger man's hand on his hip. Taking it as a signal Greg ground down harder, wondering what Mycroft sounded like moaning.

Letting out a breathy gasp as the silver haired man started to work down the length of his neck, Mycroft groaned, arching his hips at the additional stimulation. His fingers tangled more tightly in his partner's hair, and he tried to drag him back up; Gregory's kisses grounded him, and that's definitely what he needed if his hips were going to keep moving like that.

"Is this alright?"

"It is fine, Gregory, I will tell you if I must stop," he hummed contentedly as he moved the hand from the Greg’s hip to stroke his cheek.

“You are just so gorgeous," he whispered into his ear before licking the shell, “I just want to show you what you do to me.

"It feels lovely. It is simply a long time since I have been intimate,” the ginger replied, and soon they pair found a comfortable rhythm, moving to lay on the couch.

When they finished, Greg was happily tucked into the crook of Mycroft’s neck, kissing the sensitive skin, and tasting the sweat that gathered there.

“I’m falling for you My,” Greg whispered in the comfortable silence that came over the apartment as the lay there spent.

Feeling tightness in his chest, Mycroft was uncertain if he should reply and break the spell, but for once in his life he liked the vulnerability he shared with Greg.

“I can assure you that I am falling alongside you Gregory.”


	8. Skyline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tramp stamp, by any other design, is still a tramp stamp.

Feeling stiff on the couch after their session, Mycroft shifted below Greg, declaring his need for a shower.

Rolling off his partner, Greg agreed, and got up to give Mycroft a set of fresh towels.

“I guess I’ll give you some new bottoms too considering we wrecked these,” he laughed, and swatted Mycroft’s bum as he gave me a look that said - it’s your own fault love.

While Mycroft was in the shower, Greg went about getting a change of clothes for his partner, seeing as his original clothes were still damp. He opened the bathroom door, took the dirty bottoms, and replaced them for fresh ones.

Once Mycroft was out of the bath, Greg took his turn to shower. He let his mind wander to the events that transpired on the couch, and let himself feel giddy, especially since it seemed as if his boyfriend would be spending the night with him for the first time that was not a product of sickness.

Stepping out of the bathroom Greg was greeted by the sight of Mycroft on the floor, bent over, looking under the bed.

“Can I help you?”

Banging his head on the edge of the bed, Mycroft grunted in pain. “Stupid cufflink rolled under the bed. Aha! There it is!”

Greg chuckled at the sight and as his boyfriend stretched he was greeted by the sight of peeking ink from his lover’s lower back.

“Mycroft Holmes, please don’t tell me you have a tramp stamp..."

Standing up, and rubbing the back of his head where it had bumped against the underside of the bed Mycroft asked, “Does it count as a tramp stamp if it goes around the whole lower back, hip to hip?”

“Perhaps, but further examination is needed.”

Sighing, Mycroft turned his back to Greg and allowed his pajama bottoms to shimmy down to reveal the expanse of the London skyline across his lower back from hip bone to hip bone.

Staring at the silhouette art for a moment, Greg moved forward to wrap his arms around Mycroft’s waist, hugging him close.

“You will never cease to amaze me My. Each little detail about you makes me want you around more. I get what Sherlock meant when he called John an ever changing puzzle,” he mumbled against the ginger’s neck.

Kissing him on the cheek, he walked the pair of them over to bed, and snuggled alongside his boyfriend.

“Does this mean it is not a tramp stamp?”

“No dear, you most certainly have a tramp stamp, albeit a classy one.”


	9. Hello Liberty!

The next morning Greg got up and went about making breakfast for the two of them. It may have been a Saturday but Greg had to go in around one to finish some paperwork, and Mycroft had a luncheon with some ambassadors, and needed to go home and change before. Greg, however, was not letting his boyfriend leave after their first proper sleepover without breakfast.

Having whisked the eggs together and chopped up the vegetables, Greg simultaneously made two omelettes - one egg whites, another with whole eggs. He also put in a small bowl some mixed berries he had and was setting down two cups of brewed coffee when Mycroft walked out, disheveled from sleep.

“Morning My,” he smiled, and kissed his sleepy lover on the lips.

“M’rning,” Mycroft murmured, never really being fully human until he had coffee, a fact Greg had been informed of but never actually witnessed.

Setting down a plate in front of Mycroft he kissed the top of the ginger’s head, and sat beside him. “Made yours an egg white one before you bemoaned your ‘diet’ and claim that I am trying to fatten you up.”

Mumbling out an intelligible quip, Mycroft sipped at his coffee and picked at his meal, slowly regaining humanity. Still sleep worn, however, he rubbed his face into Greg’s bicep and shoulder grumbling about the hour.

Greg laughed at how childish the usually posh man was acting, but found it very endearing. “Who knew the British government was so petulant in the morning?”

Grunting he lifted up and stared at Greg’s right bicep where his shirt had shifted upward. “Gregory, where are there high heels on your arm?”

Raising an eyebrow, Greg looked at his boyfriend confused, but he soon broke into a grin, and lifted up his sleeve.

“Vintage pinup girl. Always loved the way these looked and one day on a whim I got one,” he explained, chewing on his toast, and rolled his sleeve back down.

Mycroft wondered why Greg put his sleeve back down so quickly, and swatted his hand away, and lifted the fabric back up. Upon closer examination Mycroft realised the girl in question looked rather familiar. She was holding a sword in one hand and a small set of scales in the other.

“Gregory, is this Lady Justice from atop the Old Bailey?”

Blushing Greg nodded. “First love. Wanted something to remember her by even when she doesn’t seem to be present in some of my cases,” he shrugged, trying to play it off like it wasn’t a carefully thought out piece.

“Got her draped in the Union Jack too,” he pointed out, bringing Mycroft’s eye to the details, knowing his lover would hold his arm captive until he was satisfied that he had deduced every last thing about him and his choice of art.

Letting his fingers run across the somewhat faded ink, Mycroft smiled at the fact that he and his boyfriend has similar tattoos that expressed their devotion to their duty and to their country. Mycroft through his service to the crown and Greg by his service to the Yard.

“We really are quite a pair are we not?”

“What do you mean?”

“We simply seem to have a similar theme in our choice of art. Perpetual reminders about our endgame in life. We both serve for queen and country respectively, and for that I think we compliment each other rather well. Because no matter how many missed dates or cancelled dinners we each forgo, each of us knows that the other is simply doing work in the name of justice,” he explained, stroking the muscled arm of his lover.

Greg felt his heart flutter at the explanation, never really having heard his partner be so verbose about them as an item, let alone them as an item in the future.

“I’ll keep that in mind if you ever miss an anniversary My,” he laughed, pure affection adorning his face, and leaned in to chastely kiss him.

Feeling the brush of Greg’s lips on his, combined with the implied promise of an anniversary, Mycroft felt at ease in a relationship for the first time in a long time, and knew he would do what he could to keep Greg Lestrade by his side.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will never give up my headcanon that both of these men have total boners for justice


	10. I’ll Show You Mine, If You Show Me Yours

Five months. Greg couldn’t believe it when he replied to John’s question.

“Really five months?” John asked over a pint at their favourite pub.

“Yeah, it really seems like yesterday we went out to dinner for the first time and he served me a feast at the Indian place we now go to so often. Five months since I first kissed him,” he grinned causing John to look at him like he was mad.

“I still don’t see it you know. The two of you. He’s all posh and proper, and you, well I know about your teenage years.”

“We are more alike than you think John. For instance, Mycroft quite likes my tattoos and piercings. Well piercing, it’s singular now.”

“I thought you took all of them out?”

“Nah I kept one in - bedroom and all.”

At that John’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?!” he exclaimed, looking towards Greg’s lap.

“Oh no, not there,” he laughed. He leaned over at told John what he still had pierced and John nodded, still red.

“Well that seems a bit more sane. Really adds something though?”

“Christ yes. Well for me at least, and I’ve yet to take someone to bed that didn’t enjoy it in their own way too.”

***

Greg was spending the night at Mycroft's again - the sixth time in two weeks. He had left a few shirts in the wardrobe just in case, and now had a few books on the nightstand, by what had become his side of the bed.

Mycroft secretly relished the fact that Greg was slowly yet surely moving himself in.

_ Three weekends ago they had passed a record shop on their way to get coffee that Greg had been meaning to go in to, and once inside, spent over an hour looking through vinyls, comparing tastes and recommending albums to each other. As they reached the counter to pay, the pair realised that neither had a record player that functioned anymore, and without hesitation Mycroft added the standing wooden Crosley to their purchase. He sent a text to his driver to pick up the purchases and take them back to his townhome. _

_ Now the large record player sat in Mycroft's living room, and the DI never asked why their burgeoning record collection was residing at his boyfriend's place. Instead Greg began to spend his nights laying on the couch, sipping a beer, and listening to an album as Mycroft finished work. _

Reading his book as Mycroft made notations on some government document, Greg's mind wandered to the conversation at the bar he had a few nights ago with John.

"My, you know how you told me you had two piercings along with you tattoos?"

"Mhmm."

"Can I see one? I mean, I've got one too that I can show you."

Looking at his boyfriend over his glasses Mycroft thought about the best course of action.

"Fine. But you are not allowed to laugh."

Sitting himself up, Mycroft turned to Greg and opened his mouth.

Looking at the man's tongue Greg didn't see anything, but then the prim politician bent his tongue backwards and revealing the piercing on Mycroft's frenulum.

"Christ almighty," Greg breathed in awe.

"I was going to get my uvula pierced, but I had an upcoming debate during university, and it would not have healed in time. Shame to as that particular piercer did not believe me when I informed her that I do not have a gag reflex."

At the last bit of information Greg's jaw dropped. "You can't just casually drop information like that and not expect a man to get hard!"

"I apologise," he lied.

"Cruel man you are."

"I believe the deal was I shall show you mine if you show me yours Gregory?"

Nodding, Greg lifted up his shirt and showed Mycroft his bare chest.

Searching the tanned expanse of Greg's skin, Mycroft's eyes landed on the barbell that was tunneling through the older man's left nipple.

"Only one I didn't take off. I had a few earrings, a eyebrow piercing, tongue stud, and lip ring, but I couldn't part with this one, mainly because it's handy in bed. I'm sensitive there, and it always added a little something extra."

Having wet his lips throughout the explanation, Mycroft leaned forward and licked the pieced nub, causing Greg to moan.

"I would like to verify this statement for myself," the ginger grinned, and placing one hand on the DI's crotch, used his teeth to tug at the barbell gently.

A breathy moan escaped Greg's lips, and he felt the blood rush straight to his prick.

"Oh, you really weren't lying. You're half hard at a single tug. Tell me, how does it feel when someone plays with it while they go down on you?"

Unable to coherently reply, Greg merely keened and ground his hips up into Mycroft's palm.

Smirking, Mycroft gave the nipple one last suck before snaking down Greg's torso, and settling over his crotch.

"I guess we'll find out then," he purred, and pulled down Greg's bottoms enough to begin sucking the man's length.

***

Mycroft lay against Greg's hip, spent and exhausted from bringing his lover to climax while rutting himself against the mattress.

Catching his breath, Greg ran a hand through Mycroft's hair gently, feeling the dampness from sweat in the ginger locks.

"You really weren't lying about the gag reflex were you love?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in the turntable they bought? --> http://www.crosleyradio.com/ProductDetail?Cat=2&pk=CR44CD&colorID=0


	11. God Save the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's going to a reunion and is more than happy to bring Mycroft along to show off.

What are you doing Friday? GL

**Working on a report to give to the PM’s security team for his upcoming trip to Georgia and Azerbaijan. Why? MH**

Remember I told you about my friend Nick, who used to do vocals in my old band? GL

**Yes. MH**

Well he just invited me to his 40th birthday party, and I wanted to know if you would be able to join me. GL

**You want me to go to a party, where your friends will be? As your boyfriend? MH**

Of course. GL

It’s been almost half a year, I’d like to show you off if you don’t mind. GL

**Show me off? MH**

Yeah, you know, introduce you to people as my other half. Have everyone spend the night asking me questions about you, telling me what a catch you are. The usual. GL

**I see. I have never been brought to a casual party as someone’s date before. A few state dinner’s but no one thought much of me. Are you certain? MH**

Yes, My. I want to tell people I'm dating you and that I'm happy. GL

**Very well then. I shall make sure I am free Friday night. MH**

Great! Also, do you think we can take your car so I can bring my bass? GL

**Certainly. MH**

***

Pulling into the driveway on Friday night, Mycroft was visibly nervous. He had never been brought around as an actual date before, and he was most certainly not like anyone had Greg had been with prior - man, woman, or anyone else on the spectrum. He was certain that when Greg informed his friend that he was dating a man, he was dating someone similar to Greg, not some wound up bureaucrat.

Greg looked over to Mycroft and smiled. "My, they are going to love you because I do," he assured, and stepped out of the car to get his bass out the boot, while Mycroft sat in the driver's seat telling himself that it was just transpired was not an 'I love you' from Greg but more of a turn of phrase.

Linking hands, Greg led Mycroft to the door and was greeted by a lovely blond woman, wearing a high waisted jeans and a flowy peasant top. "Greg!" she exclaimed, pulling in the DI for a tight hug and rocking him back and forth.

"Oh its been so long!" she cried, letting him go and looking at him with teary eyes.

"I know, I know! What last time I saw you was Nick's graduation, and you were at uni breaking hearts?"

"Yes, and you were married by that time or I would have gone for you," she winked, causing a cough to come from Mycroft.

Smirking, Greg turned to his boyfriend and made the introductions. "Mycroft, this is Melanie, Nick's baby sister. Mel, this is my boyfriend Mycroft," he smiled, knowing the other shoe was soon to drop.

"Boyfriend? Really Greg? Looks like we were both playing on the wrong team when we were younger," she laughed, and pulled the ginger in for a hug.

Relieved, Mycroft did his best to reciprocate the affection, and added onto her sentiment. "I would concur with you. I have seen photos of Gregory in his youth and it is enough to make anyone turn their head."

"Gregory?" she grinned, looking at Greg. "Oh I like him," she added, and walked them inside.

"Nick is on the terrace with everyone else. I was just finishing mixing some drinks so go on out there with the lot and have fun!"

Walking outside was a trip down memory lane for Greg. There were friends from childhood, a few barristers he'd met throughout his earlier years at the Yard, and too many children, spouses, and second spouses. Each and everyone of them was eager to meet Mycroft as the only men Greg had been with had been random hookups after shows.

"Of course you're ginger," Nick declared at one point in the night. "I'll never forget. Delia Kent was this red-head in secondary with us, and Greg would always try to impress her with his music, but she didn't have a thing for delinquents, so Greg was always failing. Nice to know he finally succeed with one," he teased, elbowing Mycroft.

"Well I assure you that I would have caved much sooner than Delia as I am fond of Gregory and his music tastes, though I have yet to hear him play," Mycroft explained, and looked at the men gathered around him.

"Oh yeah?" Nick asked and looked at Greg. "Bring your bass?"

Nodding, Greg pointed the case in the living room, and asked, "We've got vocals and bass, and if we can pull Amelia out of conversation with Andrews that's three out of four. No drums though."

Waving his hand Nick grinned. "Nah, my oldest has been beating his kit to death lately and is more than happy to play some of our favourite covers with us."

"Brilliant," Greg laughed, and glanced at Mycroft would looked giddy.

***

Hours later after a few rounds of songs, and a lot of drinking, the last of the party sat around the living room trading stories.

"And then," Amelia continued, "he got that bloody gun tattoo, and went to the bar to drink away the pain, so we had to drag his arse back to mine before we went back to the parlour to get another one!"

The group laughed, Mycroft stifling his own laughter with his hand and inquired, "What did he want to get? Do you remember?"

"Oh yes," Amelia smirked, "the good Detective Inspector wanted 'God Save the Queen' on his forearm, and I am so thankful we dragged you because you are a bloody officer," he yelled, pointing at Greg accusingly.

"Oi! I made brilliant decisions in my youth, you all just never let me go through with them," he stated in mock offence.

Reddening beyond belief, Mycroft couldn't help but supplying, "Well thankfully he didn't get that because the same tattoo in a relationship would just look silly."

At that declaration, the room went silent, and everyone turned to look at Mycroft, including Greg.

"See for yourself," the ginger shrugged, and unbuttoned his shirt enough to pull down the back collar, and let the group see into his shirt, the lettering of "God Save the Queen" in neat script spanning shoulder blade to shoulder blade.

Gaping, Greg looked flabbergasted - not only because of that tattoo, but because Mycroft had shown a room full of people.

Everyone took their turn looking and commented on how no one thought Mycroft was the type to have tattoos, and before the ginger could comment, Greg cut in saying, "Well it's his only one."

Soon, the night wound down, and the pair made their way to the guest room where they decided to stay the night instead of driving home, after grabbing their overnight bag from the car.

Laying in bed Greg turned to hug Mycroft close, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

"You are amazing you know that?" he murmured against his skin.

"What makes you say that?" Mycroft asked, turning to face him.

"You, with your proper appearance and secret job, coming out here and being so relaxed in front of everyone. Giving them a chance to see you like I do. It made me realise how lucky I am to have you," he whispered, running a hand over his cheek.

"That means a lot to me Gregory. I wanted to make a good impression as I am sure your friends are on alert after the divorce."

"Good impression is an understatement My. They loved you."

"Well while I appreciate that, I was not looking for there affection," he mumbled, trying to find the right way to say it.

"You have mine that is for sure," Greg smiled, his face half engulfed by the pillow.

"Good, and you have my affection as well. You have more than that actually...I believe, well, no. I know I am in love with you, and I wanted to find the perfect way to express it when I figured it best to just say it plainly."

With wide-eyes Greg sputtered. "You love me?"

"Yes," Mycroft nodded firmly, wondering if this was Greg trying to figure out a way to let him down.

"Mycroft Holmes loves me," he repeated in disbelief, turning to face the ceiling.

"Yes," he repeated propping himself up to look at his boyfriend, worried.

"Holy crap...you actually love me. I'm not the only one feeling this...you love me," he laughed, staring at the white paint before turning to Mycroft.

"I love you too and I think I have for awhile."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, Mycroft bent down and placed his lips gently against Greg's.

"Well that is settled then we are in love," he summarised and rest his head on Greg's shoulder.

"Yes we are," he older man grinned, and fell asleep holding on to his love.

***

When the woke in the morning and began to get ready to drive back to London proper, a question was lingering in Mycroft's mind after last night.

"Gregory, why did you only tell them I had the one tattoo, when you very well know that is not the case?"

Turning to look at his partner Greg smiled softly. "Well first of you would have hated yourself if tipsy you showed off everything when you've done a great job of keeping them secret. Second, I honestly kind of like that they're for me. Their my little piece of you no one else can have."

Blushing, Mycroft simply nodded as he folded his clothes into the weekend bag.

"Very well then, they are yours."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long gap between posts but school and writers block will do that to you. Wrote this out on my iPad in a bit of inspiration so I'll check for typos in the morning - couldn't wait. Thank you all for being so patient and sticking through this story with me.


	12. The Shirt Comes Off

Despite having dated for as long as they had, and despite having exchanged “I love you” Greg had never seen Mycroft with his shirt off.

Yes they fooled around, and sure his hand slide under the barrier of fabric every once in a while, but the elder Holmes was a private and self-conscious man and it was testing Greg’s patience to not be able to peel off every layer of clothing on the ginger.

A few weeks after the party at Nick’s, Mycroft and Greg were lounging in what had just become their town-home. It was Mycroft who brought it up. He pointed out that Greg barely spent time at his own flat and that paying the monthly rent was silly when he basically used it as storage - a feature Mycroft’s town home had plenty of.

The pair were laying on the couch resting after having moved boxes and luggage around all day (Greg had insisted on only letting the movers do so much). During their rearranging and organising, Greg had peeled off a few layers and even Mycroft shed his shirt, only to tease Greg with a black vest covering the majority of his torso. That tease was the last straw for Greg.

“You know, it was nice seeing you all laboured and flush today,” he grinned, nudging Mycroft’s ribs, “kind of sexy.”

The younger man frowned. “I do not see how that is attractive. My face must have matched my hair and sweat and I are not on good terms.”

“Well perhaps is because I had a really nice image of doing this,” he narrated, as he turned and straddled Mycroft on the couch, and began to unbutton his shirt slowly, “and stripping you down so I could see how lovely you looked with a gleaming chest.”

“The only thing it would look like is wet seal blubber,” he muttered, batting Greg’s hands away.

The DI looked down at his boyfriend and sighed. “My, you would not look like a wet sea mammal, and if you don’t believe me here,” he said, grabbing Mycroft’s hand and manoeuvring it to the front of his sweatpants, allowing him to feel the erection growing beneath the fabric. Greg pushed into the hand the stayed there and resumed his unbuttoning of Mycroft’s shirt, and was finally only left with the vest.

Running his nose along his jaw, Greg began to kiss down Mycroft’s neck, nipping and sucking gently, relaxing the ginger so he could keep stripping him down. Knowing he would be more comfortable if Greg was in the same state, Greg pulled back and quickly rid himself of his own shirt, and once bare-chested, let Mycroft’s hands roam the tanned expanse, moaning bit when the Holmes tugged teasingly at his piercing.

“Now I'm going to take off your shirt and see the gorgeous body of yours. Then I’m going to put you on your back and press us together so I can snog the hell out of your, while rutting into your thigh like a school boy. Sound good?” he rasped into Mycroft’s ear, and as the nod, began to implement his plan.

As soon as Mycroft was stripped of his clothing from the waist up, Greg began his exploration, ensuring the Mycroft would not be able to think about being shirtless until he was done.

Greg had been expecting ink when Mycroft revealed his chest, and he was not disappointed. Two blocks of text appeared on either side of his ribs, and while one was clearly too long to read as Greg kissed down and around his chest, the shorter of the two verses read - _**He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past. - Orwell**_. It was in neat typeface, like what you saw on an old keyboard, and the nature of the quote combined with Mycroft’s job made Greg laugh internally, and began to trace the saying with his tongue.

Once he was satisfied with his survey of Mycroft’s bare chest, Greg continued on with the rest of his promise and began to kiss the breath out of Mycroft while they rutted against each other, eventually coming in their pants like teenagers.

Later on that night, Mycroft and Greg slid into bed, both content that it would be their bed from then on, and Greg would not longer be rushing out early in the morning to change, or having to travel far because post divorce, couldn't afford to live close to the Yard.

As Greg lay wrapped in Mycroft’s arms, his mind drifted off to the block of cursive text on Mycroft’s left ribs, and asked, “I saw the Orwell quote, but was was the larger set of text on your ribs love?”

Having been drifting off to sleep it took Mycroft a few seconds longer than usual to put things together and yawned in reply, “It is the first three stanzas of a poem I was rather fond of growing up. Pastoral and rather romantic, I was never sure why I liked it, but I did. Probably part of me hoped I could feel like that about someone,” he stated with a pause. “And now I do,” he smiled, kissing the back of Greg’s head.

“Do you know the whole thing by heart?”

“Of course,” he smirked.

“Then let me hear it.”

Unsure of whether he should, Mycroft shook off his self-doubt and softly recited the poem into Greg’s ear, caressing his lover’s side and back, memorising the lines and muscles under his fingers.

 

_“Come live with me and be my Love,_

_And we will all the pleasures prove_

_That hills and valleys, dale and field,_

_And all the craggy mountains yield._

_There will we sit upon the rocks_

_And see the shepherds feed their flocks,_

_By shallow rivers, to whose falls_

_Melodious birds sing madrigals._

_There will I make thee beds of roses_

_And a thousand fragrant posies,_

_A cap of flowers, and a kirtle_

_Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle._

_A gown made of the finest wool_

_Which from our pretty lambs we pull,_

_Fair linèd slippers for the cold,_

_With buckles of the purest gold._

_A belt of straw and ivy buds_

_With coral clasps and amber studs:_

_And if these pleasures may thee move,_

_Come live with me and be my Love._

_Thy silver dishes for thy meat_

_As precious as the gods do eat,_

_Shall on an ivory table be_

_Prepared each day for thee and me._

_The shepherd swains shall dance and sing_

_For thy delight each May-morning:_

_If these delights thy mind may move,_

_Then live with me and be my Love.”_

 

When Mycroft finished, Greg turned in his embrace and kissed him chastely, but managed to pour his soul into the simple press of lips.

“Yes,” he whispered as he pulled back.

“Yes what?” Mycroft asked confused.

“I’ll live with you and be your love,” he smiled softly, and fell asleep tucked in his boyfriend’s arms.


	13. Meeting Royalty

Greg woke up in the morning still dizzy from the high of moving in officially, and making his lover come in his pants on what was now their sofa.

Seeing that Mycroft was still asleep, Greg took the opportunity to eye his boyfriend turned roommate with a loving eye, and as his eyes wandered he noticed Mycroft was tenting the sheets, obviously having a decadent dream.

Unable to resist the opportunity, Greg reached around his lover’s waist and slid his hand down into his bottoms and under his pants. He was eager to say the least - he’d never done anything with Mycroft’s prick beyond teasing through the fabric. The ginger was hell bent on the pair of them taking their physical relationship slowly, and though he’d been on the receiving end of Mycroft’s oral ministrations a fair amount of time, he was never allowed the opportunity to reciprocate and he didn’t know why.

His query was soon answered, however, when his hand wrapped around Mycroft’s shaft and stroking up, was met with warm metal. Using his fingers to feel around, Greg froze, realising that his partner, one of the most proper men he knew, despite his tattoos, had a prince albert piercing! Shaking his head to unfreeze himself, Greg gently caressed the head of Mycroft’s prick, feeling one heavy metal ball, and moving down beneath the frenulum to feel another. Creating a mental picture for himself, Greg pieced together that it was a curved barbell going through the skin.

While Greg was exploring, Mycroft began to wake up, and soon stirred enough to notice that Greg was fondling him.

“Gregory dear, why is your hand in my pants?” Mycroft asked raspily, his throat dry from the morning.

Embarrassed at being caught, Greg began to slid his hand out of Mycroft’s pajama bottoms, but halted as his lover thrust into his grasp.

“Well, you see, I, umm, woke up before you, and you had, you had...well you seemed as if you were having a good dream. I wanted to wake you up properly, with my assistance that is, and..."

“And you realised that I have a rather large piece of metal through my erection?”

“Yes..."

At the admission Mycroft sighed. “I wanted to tell you in a way that would not scare you off. It was a whim decision, but I have kept it for some reason and -”

“And would that reason be to bugger men with it and make them scream,” Greg cut in, pressing himself to his lover’s back.

“Perhaps,” Mycroft swallowed, and noticed the grip around his erection had tightened.

“Good because that’s what I want. I want you to open me up and fuck me,” Greg rasped, stroking Mycroft harder. He didn’t expect himself to find the piercing, let alone reacting to it this way, but Greg’s mind had zeroed in on the image of being bent over and rogered by Mycroft and his piercing, and that was all he wanted right now.

“My dearest, are you turned on by what you have just discovered?”

“Turned on doesn't begin to cover it My,” he growled and pushed his cloth erection between Mycroft’s cheeks.

Unable to stop the whimper that came out from his mouth, Mycroft turned around and captured Greg’s mouth with his own.

Pulling off a bit to take off their shirts, Greg rolled his hips, pressing both of their cocks together, enjoying the sounds he was pulling from his bedmate.

“Gregory,” Mycroft panted, realising this was actually leading to sex, “Gregory, this will be our first time. Are you sure you want it like this?”

Latching onto the ginger’s neck and clavicle with his mouth, he sucked a bright red mark to the delicate pale skin and nodded. “Yes. Sure. Fuck. Me.”

Happy to oblige his lover, Mycroft quickly stripped Greg of the rest of his clothing, leaving him bare. Kissing down his torso, Mycroft tugged at the barbell piercing that always got the silver-haired DI going, before slipping down further to tease his length with his mouth.

After sufficient oral attention, as well as Greg’s insistence to get on with it, Mycroft moved towards the bedside table to get the lubricant and began to open up his partner. One, two, three digits later, Greg was on all fours with Mycroft behind him.

Quickly stripping himself down to nothing, Mycroft lined himself up and slowly pushed into Greg. Beneath him the DI moaned, feeling the sting and stretch, relishing the fullness he’d missed.

Once fully seated, Mycroft waited for Greg to tell him it was alright to move, and at the signal Greg got what he wanted. Though on the surface Mycroft appeared calm and composed, when he wanted to he was able to let it go and let his animal instinct take over.

Happy that their townhome was basically soundproof, Greg took the opportunity to scream and moan as loudly as he pleased, especially when one of the balls of Mycroft’s piercing grazed over his prostate, causing him to blackout.

“Do that again,” he begged, hardly able to hold himself up.

“This?” Mycroft teased, and angled himself again to hit Greg’s sweet spot.

Feeling that his partner was becoming more pliant, and unable to hold himself up, Mycroft gently pulled out, and propping himself up against the headboard, guided Greg to straddle him. Once seated again, he began to thrust up into the wet heat, watching as Greg’s head lolled back in pleasure.

Holding onto Mycroft’s thighs for purchase, Greg noticed the ink trailing down his femoral skin and hips, but was too blissed out to query especially when his lover wrapped his hand around his prick and stroked him off to climax.

As Greg began to clench around Mycroft, the younger man released himself inside his lover and was soon coming down from the high with a euphoric Greg lapping the junction between his neck and shoulder.

“I love you,” he breathed heavily. “That was amazing. Why have you been hiding that?” he grinned, pulling back to look at the ginger grinning.

Smiling shyly, Mycroft leaned his head on Greg’s chest. “It had scared off a fewer lovers in the past. Was not sure what you would make of it,” he replied, humming as Greg carded his hand through the now sweat laden ginger locks.

“Well that was the best sex I’ve had, ever, if not at least in a long time, and I am happy to report that the prince is welcome in our sex life so as long as he pleases,” he teased, and pulled Mycroft down under the sheets to post-coitally sleep the morning away. 


	14. After the Morning After

With most of their barriers stripped away, Mycroft didn’t bother to dress in something more than a bathrobe when he woke up and decided to surprise Greg with some brunch in bed. What he hadn’t expected though was to come back to the room and find Greg awake and sitting on top of the sheets still naked.

“Hey My?” he asked, looking up as the ginger entered the room. “You ever think that we did this all backwards?” he posited to the younger man as he set his tray down.

“Backwards? What do you mean?” Mycroft responded, sitting down on the bed beside his lover.

“Well think about it. We began dating, then we said the ‘I love yous,’ then we moved in together, and last night had sex for the first proper time. I was just thinking about it and we really did not go in any traditional order,” he laughed.

“Are you unhappy with this arrangement?” he murmured worriedly, wondering if the nonuniformity of it all was finally catching up to Greg.

“No, I’m not unhappy love, please don’t think that. I was just thinking aloud is all. Most people would do this a very different way but we just did it in a very Holmesian manner,” he smirked. “For instance, I can still see some ink peeking out from that robe that I have yet to see because you insist on never letting me see all of you. Haven’t you realised by now I worship you love?” he asked, rolling over to settle in closer to Mycroft.

Looking down at the silver haired DI, Mycroft smiled softly at him, turning over the words in his head. “I am so afraid that one day you will wake up and think this was a silly idea. So I tried to keep as much of me to myself so you couldn’t run off with all of it if you did decide that this was not for you. How silly I was to think that not showing you my body would prevent you from capturing my heart,” he sighed, kissing the top of Greg’s head.

“Mycroft Holmes, the only thing I ever intend to do with your heart is keep it safe because I am not going anywhere you daft man,” he stated firmly, and propped himself up enough to kiss him back on the lips. “Now let’s have something to eat and then I can finished exploring, yeah?”

Shaking his head, Mycroft undid his robe and tossed it aside. For the first time, Greg was able to see all of the ginger and let his eyes roam over the creamy expanse. The two tattoos he need to see to complete the picture were a cephalopod attacking a submarine in a Jules Verne tribute on his right thigh, and an abstract postage stamp with symbols of Britain that says “if found please return home” - each were so very Mycroft in a way to Greg.

Satisfied with his visual exploration, Greg grabbed a throw at the foot of the bed, before either of them got too chilly, and settled it over the two of them before digging into their brunch. If Greg found himself idly tracing the tattoos underneath the sheets, Mycroft did his best to not point it out.


	15. The Silver Fox

It took Greg a bit to remember what the place was called but with Anthea’s help he had an appointment booked with Mister St. Vincent while Mycroft was away on a trip. The ginger was always dropping hint as to how he though Greg would look sexier with some more ink, lamenting the fact that the DI had taken out most of his prior piercings. Greg came to the conclusion that his lover had a thing for bad boys and decided to indulge his fantasy.

He didn’t have any art with him but from seeing each piece of work on Mycroft’s skin, he trust the man before him to do him justice and simply explained what vision he had. Soon the mock-up was shown to him and after some adjustments, the transfer was being put on and Greg settled in for several hours of inking.

***

It took another two sessions during the same week but when it was all done, Greg was the proud owner of a new tattoo. He’d chosen a silver fox whose feet started low on his right shoulder blade and went over his shoulder to his chest as if it was bounding.

Mycroft was to be gone a month on some diplomatic tour so it gave Greg a decent enough him to heal that way the piece of art wouldn't be scabbing, itchy, and red when his lover came back home. He took care of it diligently, keeping it moist and distracting himself when he had an urge to pick at it.

John had noticed the stiffness in his shoulder the first week and asked what was wrong, and when Greg explained it, the doctor was eager to see what his friend had gotten, but the silver haired DI just shook his head and told him that the first person who was going to see it all done was Mycroft and Mycroft alone.

“It’s a gift John. He loves tattoos with meaning, art, and love, and I wanted to give him this. He’s always making little mentions about how he wished I hadn't taken out my piercings or stopped getting tattoos, and this is my way of saying that I trust him enough to give him a part of me I thought was long lost,” he explained to his friend over a pint.

“That’s sweet actually. If I didn't know better I’d say that almost sounded like the beginning of a proposal.”

With that comment, Greg gulped down a large amount of his pint. “I guess so, and I have been thinking about it..." he confessed.

John’s eyes went wide at his friend’s statement. “Good for you. I mean it isn't what I would have pictured but if you’re happy then that is what matters.”

“John, thanks. Means a lot coming from my best mate.”

***

Greg was asleep in bed when Mycroft came home from his trip a few days earlier than planned. The ginger was exhausted from his time abroad and just wanted to come home to his partner and relax in his own bed. He knew from the looks Anthea was giving him in the car that she would arrange his schedule to have the next day or two off whether he liked it or not - she never was one for giving him a choice.

Coming into the bedroom, and seeing Greg under the sheets made him smile. Stripping down quickly, he slid into bed after he hung up his suit, and wrapped an arm around Greg’s waist and began to kiss his exposed left shoulder, feeling the warmth of his partner’s body.

The sensation of hands and kisses stirred Greg from his slumber, and he nuzzled backwards into his lover. “You’re back early, My...missed you..." he yawned and rolled over to tuck his head into Mycroft’s nape.

“I missed you as well my love,” he smiled, and peppered kisses down Greg’s cheek, neck, and shoulder, until his lips were met with a different textured and he opened his eyes.

“Gregory, what is on your shoulder?” he asked in the darkness.

The older man rolled over and turned on the bedside lamp, illuminating the room in a dim light. Sitting up, Greg positioned himself in a way that allowed Mycroft to see his art and soon the ginger was reaching out, trailing his fingertips over the piece and examining the fine details.

“I see my silver fox was busy while I was away,” he whispered, moving closer to Greg.

“Mmhmm. I even went to your guy. Had him do it over a few sessions. Even added a detail in for you,” he smirked and turned around to show Mycroft the back end of the fox. There, at the tip of the tail was a splotch of ginger coloured hair that marked the tail’s end.

“I got this as a gift to you. My way of letting you know that I'm in this for the long haul. You have touch a part of me and I wanted to show you in a way we both understand. I thought any spark of youth and creativity was long lost, but you, you brought it back with the way you love me. So this is for you and us.”

Touched by Greg’s explanation, Mycroft planted a passionate kiss on his partner’s lips, and pulled him back down to bed.

“It is beautiful Gregory. A perfect gift from a perfect man,” he whispered.

The two men spent the rest of the night reuniting in the way they knew best, and as they fell asleep, Mycroft felt much more certain about the ring he had picked up on his trip abroad.


End file.
